


the wounds they make

by KaelsMiscellany



Series: Being the Tale of Jude Duarte, the High Queen of Elfhame [1]
Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black, Tithe Series - Holly Black
Genre: (bc I'm not gonna lie this is already jossed by what we know of QoN), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Excessive Use of Flowers, F/M, Femdom, almost but not quite PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-06-26 17:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: In which Jude attempts to move on, Cardan mulls, and there's an eventual meeting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, welcome to my first (but likely not my last) Folk of the Air fic! Always fun and a little terrifying to come into a new fandom. So I hope you all enjoy this strange little romp of mine.
> 
> Also thanks to Displayheartcode for giving this a once over for me!
> 
> Title comes from _Medea_ by Euripides. "Stronger than lover's love is lover's hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make."

It takes a few weeks before Vivi’s bodily dragging me off the couch. Not that I appreciate it. I also don’t struggle on the other hand, knowing I’m not going to stop whatever plan she has. “Oak!” She calls out. “Put your glamour on, we’re going out.”

Footsteps thunder down the hall, Oak grinning broadly. “Where’re we going?” The excitement in his voice manages to unearth a threat of fondness inside me, even that emotion feels too much, too raw.

Vivi winks as she drags me out the door, and down the stairs. “It’s a surprise, but it’ll take a while to get there.” I frown a little at that.

The first part of this outing is by bus, I let Oak crawl into my lap and curl up against me. “Stings,” he mutters.

Reaching out Vivi ruffles his hair, she’s taking the iron better than he is, but there isn’t as much color to her cheeks as there used to be. “I know kiddo, the train’ll be better.”

It turns out surprise hurts just as much as fondness did, where were we going that we’d have to take a _train_? Why couldn’t we have just taken ragwort horses there? Nevermind that I had no interest in seeing one again after...well, after.

I’d have my revenge, but I needed more time to lick my wounded pride. At least in the mortal realm I could wallow in a way I never would have allowed myself in Elfhame. Soon though I’d pick myself up and be Jude again. Even if I’m beginning to feel that ‘soon’ has already passed me by.

When we reach the right stop Oak all but tumbles out of my lap, rushing for the door. A few of the other passengers give fond smiles, a few others give Vivi and I commiserating looks. Oak has the good sense to wait for us at least, although once we’re off the bus he grins and chases after a flock of pigeons, which go flying every which way at his sudden ‘attack.’ “Raar!” He attempts to chase after one that’s already landed, but it flies away again.

“Come on, Oak,” I call.

He comes, craning his head around as we enter the station, taking in the murals painted on the walls. “I’m hungry.”

Vivi reaches into a pocket and pulls out a few dollars, I find I don’t care if they’re real or not. “Go with Jude to get some food, I’ll find you once I’ve got the tickets.”

I let Oak tug me towards a collection of stands. “What do you want?” I find I’m a little hungry too, although I’m not sure I’ll find something to tempt me, not that I’ve been one to eat for the pleasure of it.

“Candy!” Comes Oak’s perennial reply.

My mouth pulls up, just the smallest amount. We find a stall selling candy and pastries, Oak deciding to take his time in choosing. Granted sweets were a big deal for him. The seller gives me a smile, wrinkles forming everywhere on his dark face at the action. “I see your brother takes his treats very seriously,” he says it like we’re sharing a secret.

I give a noncommittal shrug. What can I say? He’s a fairy and a child, sweets are doubly in his nature. My stomach growls, and the man laughs.

Shame and embarrassment ran through me, making my face heat. Even knowing he’s not laughing to make fun of me, I don’t like the sound of it. I don’t think I’ll ever like the sound of laughter again. I look down, into a case full of golden pastries, their crusts and fillings glittering in the light—no magic but sugar I’m certain.

“Those ones,” Oak tugs my hand, pointing at a bag of gummy worms.

“Anything for you miss?” The man asks as he grabs the bag for Oak.

“What sorts of fillings?” I point at the pastries.

He shrugs as he slides open the back, a waft of sweetness filling the air. “Cream cheese, cherry, apple, blueberry. Ah, honey too.”

“Honey,” I finally say. “And a cherry one too.”

He’s handing them over as Vivi seemingly appears at our side. “Train’s leaving soon, come on.”

I hand him the cash. “Keep the change,” I find myself muttering before hurrying away.

Oak makes a face as we get onto the train, popping a gummy worm into his mouth and chewing mutinously. When we do find seats Vivi’s nice enough to let me have the outside seat, although considering I don’t have a knife on me it’s something of a useless gesture.

Taking one of the pastries out of the bag, the honey one as it turns out, I bring it up to my mouth to take a bite, my fingers already feeling sticky from the sugary glaze on the outside. It’s good, the differing types of sweet surprising me. Although in a way it’s a reminder of where I am, and where I want to be.

Soon the train takes off. Next to me Oak stares out the window and eats his worms, sometimes biting the heads off with relish and attempting to attach the bodies together to create a sort of monster snake. He taps it with his finger and it begins to wiggle, he laughs as it falls apart the more it moves.

I should tell him to stop, we’re in public after all, even if humans see what they want to. Instead I finish my own snack, licking my own fingers clean when I’m done.

... _A different tongue rasps over my fingers, chasing every last bit of sweet…_

It’s not a memory, but the concept of it feels like a knife in my gut. I know who’s tongue it would be after all, know who would delight in syrupy fingers.

Appetite gone I toss the bag at Vivi, who catches it, eyebrow raised in question. “Not hungry anymore,” I mutter. I’m not willing to admit the truth, not when it hurts so much, not when it makes me hate myself for barely doing anything these past weeks.

She shrugs and pulls out the cherry one, happily consuming it.

What little good mood I had is soured and I stare out the window, watching the scenery around us change as we head south. I find I don’t even care where we might be going, just more possible chances for the world to taunt me. Better I had remained at the apartment, at least there I knew everything, knew every hurt.

No chance for me to go back now, not unless I want to throw myself out of a moving train and somehow make my way however many miles back to the house. I lean my head back against the uncomfortable seat, looking up at the useless, and sickly, lights. I hear Oak move from next to me to over to Vivi, the sounds of fabric implying he’s curling up against her. “Tell me a story,” he asks, sounding tired.

She does, something about princesses and the moon, I don’t pay that much attention to it. I drift off into someplace between waking and sleeping, my unconcious taking control.

_...I’m back in the Court of Shadows, sitting at the table. Eating honey slathered bread, syrup covered waffles, ice cream drenched in chocolate sauce. I’m a gluttonous mess of sweets, eager to be consumed._

_In the way of dreams and fantasies, Cardan is there, lounging in the seat next to mine. Hatred and hunger in his gaze. Sugar crusted lips curl into a smile as I lick a streak of chocolate off my forearm. His eyes follow, growing darker and darker until they seem to consume the light around him. “Hungry?” Even my voice is sweet, but it’s the sweetness of antifreeze, a promise of deadly things._

_He drinks from a goblet of wine that appears in his hand. “And what if I am?” His voice aches with hateful need and my pride crows in my chest. He will be weak for me, if no one else. Only I can make him feel this thing he hates and wants._

_My smile grows and I hold out my hands, my chair turning to face him, becoming the throne of Elfhame. “Then kneel,_ my king _.”_

 _A sneer crosses his face, but he comes. The crown on his head askew as always as he kneels before me. “As you wish,_ my queen," _the acid in his voice warms me._

_I hold out a hand, and he needs no prompting, taking it in his own and bringing it to his mouth. He licks it clean with more dedication than he’s perhaps given anything else in his life, as if each taste brings him closer to the satisfaction he can never truly have._

_Like his hate, I find myself warming under his ministrations; each slow, intent lick pulling at the desire in my belly, teasing it free. I let myself enjoy it, here I am the one with all the power, all the control. Here he will never be able to use it against me as I use it against him._

_His tongue moves from my hand to my wrist, chasing every last bit of sweet it can find. He nibbles too, as if I am not made of flesh and blood but cake and syrup. The moves are smooth and practiced, but behind him his tail thrashes, belying his supposed ease. Reaching my inner elbow he finally stops. “My deadly wife?”_

_My satisfaction grows. I turn his head with my now clean hand. “You still have work to do,” my voice is full of calm patience, as if I am unaffected by all that he’s done. “Penance must be paid.” Revenge must be had._

_Cardan’s eyes slide shut and I feel him shudder against my legs. Yet he doesn’t say anything more as he moves to my other hand. Lavishing it with the same attention and dedication he had the first. My fingers curl through his thick hair, moving lower I drag my nails down the back of his neck, dancing down the knobs of his elegantly bowed and scarred spine. When I am close enough his tail curls around my arm, the tuft at the end teasing the inside of my wrist._

_I hum, the sound making the world around us tremble. As he works on my second hand I can feel his lips moving against me, my sluggish mind taking a few seconds to realize why that is. He mouths my name, again and again, I do not know if he is saying it in reverence or hatred. Either way, it breaks me._

_With ease I jerk my wrist free of him. He’s so focused that it takes a second for him to realize I’ve done it. Tongue darting out one final time, licking only empty air. A whimper leaves him and it arcs through me like lightning._

_“Jude,” I will never tire of hearing him beg._

_Nudging him aside I reach down and grab the hem of my skirt, dragging it up and up until I’ve bared myself. The cool air around us, and the heat of his gaze, makes me finally aware of how wet I am. Thighs slippery, and the throne beneath me soaked through. “This is what you really want, isn’t it?”_

_Those light consuming eyes somehow manage to darken more, his breaths leaving him in ragged pants. "_ Jude.”

 _“Kiss me, husband,” I command. “Kiss me until you are sick of it,” it feels good to throw that back at him. To make it_ his _choice, when it’s no choice at all. Not for him._

_A pained groan leave him, but he moves closer again. “You are everything I despise,” he murmurs against my skin, as gently as any lover would._

_“But you will kiss me anyways,” I remind. Hate and want sing between us, a different sort of sweetness to seduce even me. If this were the truth in any way, it would ruin me just as much as he is ruined. But this is what_ I _want, so it only dances against my skin, as desperate as Cardan. I am immune to it, as I am to him. “Because you want me, perhaps even as much as you hate me.” If not more._

_“I will, deadly Jude,” he agrees. “I do.”_

_I laugh. He doesn’t mean the nod to human vows, but it is there._

_He presses closer, his breath hot against me, making me shudder. I feel his brief smile against my thigh. “I hate I cannot escape you, even in dreams. You’ve settled into my chest like a growth, your rot spreading through me.”_

_The words might please me, but I still run a hand through his hair, yanking hard. “There are far better uses for your clever tongue,” I demand._

_A hum of agreement and then his mouth is there, kissing me with fervor. My grip on his hair tightens, and the nails of my other hand dig into his shoulder, blood pooling beneath my nails and dripping down his back. When the blood hits the ground flowers bloom: purple carnations, hemlock, lobelia, wax myrtle, on and on._

_Cardan suckles and licks, and I’m so wet I barely feel his fingers slip inside, but I do feel them press against me and pull down, as if he’s trying to get every last drop of myself that he can. I grind against him, enjoying the way he trembles, trying not to breath. I relent and feel him gasp in air, before resuming his ministrations._

_I orgasm with a low moan, pleasure making my body relax in ways I never could. Still Cardan eats at me, so eager for every last drop. Little aftershocks of pleasure course through me as he works, until I can bear it no more, shoving him away with my knees. “Enough.”_

_He sprawls on the ground, lips shiny, black eyes warm and soft, looking thoroughly delicious. Narcissus bloom around him, their scent filling the air. “Jude, darling, deadly wife.” I’m grateful his eyes slide close as he licks his lips clean. Too easy for the void of them to pull me in, for that hazy softness to find a chink in the armor I wear and worm its way into my heart. “Sweeter than all the wines and delicacies of Elfhame.”_

_I kick his shoulder with my foot as I let my skirt fall back down. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”_

_“Yet you love to hear me say it.”_

_“No,” I lie._

_“Jude.” Vivi’s voice comes out of Cardan’s mouth and it is decidedly one of the most unerotic things I’ve ever heard. “Jude…”_

Groggily I blink, realizing that Vivi’s shaking me awake. I shove her hands away. “I’m up.” My body’s hot and achy as I stand, gritting my teeth I try to shove it all to the side. Now is not the time or place.

Oak’s rocking back and forth on his heels by the door. “Come on!” Childish demand fills his voice. “I wanna go!”

Exiting the train we’re surrounded by far more people than I was expecting, alertness coursing through my body, finally pushing away the last threads of arousal. I don’t have anything to defend us with, but at least I’ll know if someone plans on approaching us.

We funnel into the main terminal and my eyes widen. “New York?” I might have only ever seen it in movies, but I recognize Grand Central.

Oak pushes close to me. “Even the air burns,” he pouts.

“You get used to it,” Vivi reaches out and ruffles his hair. “Be better when we get to where we’re going. Come on,” she scampers ahead, excited.

Curiosity wiggles through the haze of apathy I’ve wrapped myself in. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in such a big city after all, no wonder there are so many people around. And such noise too, the whole High Court of Elfhame couldn’t match the amount of sounds coming from every which way.

The streets, when we reach them, are louder still. Vivi, thankfully, knows where she’s going. We take another train, this one far more crowded, and smellier, than the one that took us to New York. We’re only on it a short while though, and Oak’s distracted by everything whizzing past. I am too, though I also find my fingers curling, seeking a blade in comfort.

Wherever we get off is less crowded than Grand Central had been, although there are still more people than I’m perhaps comfortable with. Oak and Vivi seem to be breathing easier however; you probably couldn’t escape iron no matter where you went in New York, but there seemed to be a little less here.

“Ha!” Vivi excitedly pulls us across the street, heedless of oncoming traffic. None of us are hit, but I don’t like the experience. “Here we are.” She gestures to the shop with a flourish.

The sign says it’s called Moon in a Cup. Honestly it doesn’t look any different from the coffee shops back in Maine, why we had to come all the way down here is beyond me. Perhaps Vivi was just feeling impulsive.

Still, I let her lead us inside. Which smells of coffee and herbs, the scents almost comforting after such a long trip.

I’ve never been in this place before, but there’s something familiar about it. The place is mostly empty: two customers bent over a chessboard, and a burly looking woman behind the counter. Everything’s decorated to make it look as natural as possible: everything made of wood, plants scattered about, and, I realize, not a hint of iron anywhere.

Vivi drags us towards the woman at the counter. “I’ve heard you make more than coffee and pastries here.” She’s dropped the glamour around her eyes, seemingly unconcerned what the woman will think.

“What if we do?” The woman sounds as strong as she looks.

I’m all but shoved against the counter. “Fix her.”

“Vivi!” Anger makes me glare at her. I’m not _broken_.

The woman looks me over, eyes assessing. “She doesn’t look like she needs fixed.” That makes two of us.

An answer that clearly doesn’t satisfy Vivi. “She’s mopey, _depressed_.” She rolls her eyes at my glare. “It’s true, Jude, ever since you were banished you haven’t been yourself. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were _mooning_ over him.”

“I am _not_ mooning over Cardan,” I snap, true anger coloring my voice. “I’m _plotting_ how best to _kill_ him.” I didn’t exactly care that doing that would ruin Oak’s chances of becoming king, unless I managed to get Cardan to hand over the crown in some way before I killed him. Even if no one believed me, maybe being Queen meant _I_ could be Oak’s regent instead of Madoc.

Vivi arches a challenging eyebrow. “I didn’t realize plotting someone’s death involved eating a lot of ice cream and watching anime and reality tv.”

“I think that one depends on the anime,” the woman butts in. “Damn it Corny, why’d you have to take today off,” she mutters to herself. “Also,” she says to us. “If you’re not getting a potion, could you at least order something else and then go argue in a corner?”

I laugh, but Vivi sputters. Before she can do much else though Oak marches up to the counter. “I want hot chocolate,” he declares. “With all the chocolate in it.”

“I’ll see what I can do kiddo,” the woman laughs. “And you two?” She arches an eyebrow.

“Coffee,” I finally say. “Black.” I push back the memory of the last time I had coffee. It might have been a more harmless memory, but I didn’t want to even think about him right now. Not if I could help it. “And I’m sorry about my sister,” Vivi makes a face at my apology. “She’s…”

“A fairy?” The woman supplies. “Yeah, I know how they’re like.”

 _That’s_ more surprising than the fact she knew Vivi was a fairy. Clearly this place catered to them, although I hadn’t expected such a place to exist in the middle of New York.

Vivi slaps a few bills onto the counter before swanning off to a corner, much to the woman’s amusement. I watch her run the bills against the side of the register before ringing us up. “You’re Jude Duarte right?” At my shock she rolls her eyes. “News gets around,” she tells me. “Even here, which is basically fairy backcountry. Sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m not happy about it either,” perhaps proof that I’d spent too long in Faerie. That I couldn’t even say ‘thanks’ to a fellow human being. “It’s not the end of it though.” Losing interest in the conversation Oak wanders off again.

Which earns me a grin. “That’s the spirit. And hey,” she nods down at my hands. “If you ever want a sparring partner…” she shows off her own hands, the rough calluses there familiar. “I’m pretty good with a sword myself.”

“Be a bit of a trip for me,” I told her. “We live up in Maine.” The offer’s a tempting one though. Teaching Oak is one thing, but actually _fighting_ against someone is another, I could only improve so much fighting myself. “I should let you make our things, otherwise Oak’ll get impatient.” Or at least _more_ impatient.

The woman shrugs and stands. “Offer’s still open if you ever find yourself in the area.”

I nod, then go off to join Vivi, collecting Oak on the way. “I do _not_ appreciate you meddling,” I hiss as I sit at the desk that’s been turned into a table, the top had been painted to look like a field of stars. The ‘table’ still had it’s drawers, and I found myself pulling one open just to _do_ something. I blinked at the pile of blank paper strips inside.

“Look, Jude, you’re allowed to be hurt. But it’s not like you to just...wallow in it. You _do_ things, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything get to you as much as what Cardan did has.”

She’s right about that, loathed as I am to admit it. I let my heart get involved, and not just my hatred of Cardan; and like all fairies, Cardan used that against me. The worst part is that even doing my best not to let it happen again, I’d likely slip up again somehow. Perhaps it would have been better if I didn’t even hate Cardan, harder to affect someone when they were indifferent to you. I sigh. “I’m not going to ally myself with Madoc, and right now I can’t think of any other options I might have.” Which hurts to admit.

Reaching out Vivi squeezes my hand. “You’ll think of something, you’re my sister after all. I’m surprised he hasn’t found you and begged you to come back, he doesn’t seem the sort to enjoy the _work_ part of ruling.”

The sentiment might have been appreciated, but she didn’t know Cardan like I did—even if they were quasi-friends. She hadn’t seen how he’d changed in that month I’d been held captive. I wouldn’t put it past him to throwing himself into being a good king, just to spite me. Certain that I’d find out eventually.

My coffee and Oak’s hot chocolate are placed on the table, the woman nodding before walking back to the counter. I wrap my hands around my mug, but don’t drink just yet. “It’s Cardan, I think trying to understand him is like trying to herd cats.”

Before Vivi can reply the bell above the front door jingles behind me. A familiar voice filling the air. “Corny, please...Oh, hey Val, where’s Corny?” Turning I see Kaye heading towards the counter, looking perhaps worse than she had the last time we’d met, but clearly up on her feet and recovering. I’m glad, I can handle death on my hands, but I hadn’t meant for hers to be one of them.

“Out doing date shit with Luis,” Val shrugs. “He picked a hell of a day for it,” she inclines her head our way. It’d been likely Kaye would have noticed us on her own, but I didn’t exactly like being pointed out either.

Who turns to us and stares for a long moment before ambling over. “Hey.”

It’s so casual, so _mortal_ a response that I don’t know what to do for a second. After all the things that have happened to her that can be laid down at my feet she says ‘hey?’ I recall our only other conversation, how she had been sharp, and watched.

Another cup appears on the table, concern clear on Val’s face. “You should sit down.”

“Not you too,” Kaye grouses. Yet she sits, too long fingers curling around the mug.

I make myself meet her gaze. “I apologize for the harm that was done to you because of me.” Formality’s almost a comfort, a refuge with how awful Cardan’s deal was.

She stares at me as if she doesn’t quite know what to make of my words. One might call it comical: me, a human who acts more like a fairy, and her, who acts all too human. “If you want to get technical it’s King Cardan’s fault. Unless you planned on getting kidnapped?” There’s almost a joke in her tone.

“No,” I answer. Memories of that month threaten to overwhelm me. I drink my coffee and make a face. “But it’s still my fault.”

Kaye makes a face of her own and sighs. “If that’s what you want to think,” diplomatic. “I was told you did repay our favor by killing Balekin, which might not change what happened, but does make me feel a little better.” Her smile is fairy-vicious as she drinks from her own cup.

I manage a wan smile of my own, glad that something came out of that mess.

“Hey, Oak,” Vivi’s voice is almost startling. “Wanna play chess?” She doesn’t sound mad that I’d almost forgotten about her and Oak at least.

Oak’s expression is one of intense thought, which makes my smile a shade more real. “Okay,” he answers. “Want more hot chocolate though.” Vivi rolls her eyes, but the two of them go, leaving me truly alone with Kaye. Who looks bemused by the whole thing.

“Cardan made me Queen before he banished me,” it leaves me in a rush, surprising even me a little. Telling her is perhaps strange, but part of me feels like it might make up more for what happened.

“How the hell’d he manage that?” The fact that Kaye believes me at all is a relief. She has no reason to. Besides Vivi, no one else has.

Her question makes me blush though. “He...convinced me to marry him. In exchange for me giving up the power I had over him.”

She stares at me for a long time, her black eyes unreadable. “Jesus,” she says with a slow exhale. “What a fucking dick.”

As unexpected as my confession was, my laughter at her words is even moreso. It feels good to laugh though, especially in commiseration about Cardan. Vivi tried, but she didn’t really understand. Perhaps if Heather were still around she would have, perhaps even better than Kaye does. That Kaye understands at all is nice though.

“So, I’m not about to invite you to the Court of Termites,” Kaye sounds so offhand about it. “Because there are people there far less forgiving and magnanimous than I am,” she says it with a haughty sniff that makes me snigger. “But you’re welcome here whenever you want, could probably help you find work if you’re looking for it.”

I stare at her now. “What? Do you want to be my fairy godmother?” I bite my lip as soon as the words leave me.

Kaye only laughs. “Oh, I’m definitely telling Corny that one, he won’t stop laughing for a _week_.” A fond smile crosses her face. “Honestly, fairies already tried to kill me twice, and I’m surprised it’s taken almost two decades for the third time to come around. And even with everything that happened, I don’t like guys screwing over girls.” She shrugs.

My tongue felt leaden, the rest of me not sure there is anything I _can_ say in response to that. So I only drink more of my coffee, making a face at how bitter it’s become.

“If you won’t take my help, then take some advice, free of charge.” Kaye leans close, as if she’s about to impart some great secret. “I’ve been told that the best revenge is living well. So try not to hold yourself back too much. Probably feel great to throw in his face that you don’t need him, or his stinking title, to be happy and satisfied.”

The words do feel like some great secret, and some part of me thinks that she’s right. I’m stuck here in the mortal world, for perhaps the rest of my life, making the most of it wouldn’t be the worst thing. She’s certainly right about how good it would feel to throw it in Cardan’s face the next time we met—and there will be a next time, I’m certain of it.

“I don’t suppose you know where to start?” My childhood memories of the mortal world weren’t going to help me. And while Vivi might care deeply for me, her ‘help’ wasn’t always what I needed either.

Kaye’s grin is bright. “Fuck yeah I do.” She twists in her seat. “Hey, Val! You still looking for a roommate now that Jacinda’s moved out?”

I feel a smile cross my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting chapters weekly, so I'll see you next Thursday!
> 
> In the meantime you can come chat with me on [my Tumblr](https://kaelsmiscellany.tumblr.com/), and if you're the sort interested in it I also have a [Jude/Cardan spotify mix](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4RvhhDM8IdRJHzt269mc0L?si=5mBn5R9lQb6u_qSb1A0KCg) (despite the title isn't all that related to this fic).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _sings softly to herself_ A week without you, Thought I'd forget. Two weeks without you and I Still haven't gotten over you yet...

Cardan lounges upon the throne of Elfhame, watching Locke’s latest revel take place in front of him. His eyes are hooded and the goblet in his hands never seems to empty, perhaps less impressive considering he has not touched a drop of the stuff.

A fact that Jude would be shocked by, were she here. It would’ve been a delight to see her flummoxed by it, him being as sober as a stone. Not that anyone but she would realize it, the whole of Elfhame seeming to have bought into the fiction that he’s just as wild and feckless as always, even as they’re terrified of the power he wields.

The thought feels like a knife, just slipping between his ribs before it twists to make the wound worse.

Every thought of Jude is like that now. His _darling, delightful_ , wife having a laugh at his expense. He hadn’t thought her banishment would erase her from his mind—nothing could do that, he’s certain—but he had thought she would fade some, become less important with her absence. 

Not that it had happened when she’d been kidnapped, but that had been different. This time he knows the self-hatred lurking in the corners of his bones. It had perhaps been a foolish hope that this time he wouldn’t feel as he had before. Hoped sending her away as revenge instead of having her stolen from him would cool that heat.

A flash of willow brown catches his eye, and his heart leaps. Excitement twines with self-loathing as he seeks it out again. Perhaps Jude has finally figured out the trick of his pronouncement and made her way back to her home.

Everything in him sinks when he realizes it’s not Jude, but Tayrn.

His _cruel, heartless_ Jude seeming content to make him wait even longer.

Despite her being an enemy, Tayrn is still welcome in his halls. Mostly by virtue of being married to Locke; and perhaps Cardan hopes she will let something slip. Taryn is not her sister after all, has not hardened herself in the same ways.

Tayrn might, ultimately, be responsible for the freedom he now has, but he finds he cannot be grateful to her for it. Not when it’s a poisoned reminder of his feelings for Jude, how he’d wanted to _prove_ himself to her. As if he were the knight and her the prince. Not when looking at her is a pale reflection of Jude; and how he could have let himself be tricked like that?

He’d always been able to tell them apart before, so why hadn’t he then?

It would be easy to blame it on having just been poisoned. But he is not feeling kindly to himself tonight.

He let himself _feel_ for her, and not just the comforting blanket of his hate. He’d cared about her opinions, her thoughts. As much as he had wanted to punish her for tricking him, he’d wanted her to see the whole of him and not cast judgement.

For she was just as awful as he.

-

It is well past dawn before he stumbles into his room, alone. Not for lack of willing partners—another lie everyone believes: that the position of Queen is still waiting to be filled—but because he finds he can’t stand it.

Another thing he hates himself for: he never pledged to be faithful to Jude, yet he acts as if he had.

The Bomb gives him a look—the same look she always gives now—before giving the room a brief once over and leaving. He knows why she doesn’t stay to talk when she would have before, she doesn’t like that he’s banished Jude. The Bomb’s loyalty is hardly in question, but there are other ways she can make his life hard that would still keep him safe and alive.

Falling onto his bed he buries his face in a pillow, attempting to escape those thoughts. It only works so well, in that eventually his mind insists he _breathe_.

That done he rolls over and kicks his shoes off, staring up into the net of branches that make the roof of his bower. Today the blossoms are quince and pomegranate, the scents of them tease him until he finds himself debating on whether to suffocate himself again.

In the end he doesn’t, and even somehow manages to slip into sleep—the far more impressive trick.

_He feels the bed shift and move, and when he opens groggy eyes it’s to see Jude leaning above him, haloed by flowers—hawthorn now. “Jude,” it comes out a croak._

_“Cardan,” her voice manages to be warm and cold at the same time._

_Fingers rise up to touch her, but he curls them away before they can. “How do I know it’s you?” He refuses to let himself be tricked again._

_“I don’t know, Cardan,” her voice turns annoyed. “You’re the one who married me.”_

_With that he relaxes. No one but Jude knows that, for now it is a truth they both share._

_He starts to push himself upright, but the cool touch of a blade at his neck has him stilling. It follows when he moves to lie back down. “Good, Cardan,” the satisfaction in Jude’s voice dances down his spine. The praise goes right to his cock, a far worse realization. The bed shifts again as Jude moves, whatever is lighting the room moves too, casting her in half-shadow, revealing and hiding as it pleased._

_She looks as she should as she settles atop him: body no longer emaciated and wan. Jude as she should be, sharp, but hidden by the softness and fragility of a mortal body. It had been a certain kind of torture when she’d been returned to him, to see her like that. Nevermind the sliver of dissatisfaction that it had not been by his hand._

_The flat of the blade presses down against his throat. It doesn’t impede his breathing in the least, but it makes him far more aware of it. His tail thrashes for a moment before wrapping around her arm, as if wanting to keep the knife there. “Ah, ah, Cardan. Your thoughts are wandering, I can tell. What are you thinking about?” Her voice is low and soft, this is their pillow talk after all._

_“You,” he answers. “Hurting you.”_

_Jude gives a laugh of satisfied delight. “Never again, Cardan.” She grinds down on him, a sharp gasp leaving him at the sensation—never mind the realization that she’s_ naked _. “You cannot hurt me, you cannot even_ have _me anymore.” Her blade glides down his neck, tracing the lines of his chest. He bites back a whimper as it glances against a nipple, doing his best to keep still. “I am the sun, and you are Icarus, doomed to die by your foolishness and my hand.”_

_Cardan’s certain she’s right. However… Risking injury he surges upright, hands gripping her arms tight to keep her trapped against him. “That may be my fate, deadly Jude. But before the wax even begins to melt we will burn together.”_

_Kissing her is as heady as always, the conflagration he promised roaring between them, eager to destroy. Hate and lust and the consuming need to_ have _an inescapable web they’ve both been caught in._

_He cries out when her knife slips into his shoulder like a lover, and she makes a greedy sound of her own as she consumes his pain. “Do not try me, Cardan,” even with her panting there is danger in her voice, danger in the lines of her whole body. Danger he wants to consume and destroy and make his own and worship and have rule him._

_“I_ will _try you, Jude, and I_ will _have you as well. Any way that I desire. For you are_ mine _, deadly, cruel, wife.” He murmurs it against her ear, their sweet nothings._

_She shudders, he hopes out of the same concoction of desire and revulsion that he feels, before raising herself up. “Do your worst,” she hisses back. Jude seats herself on him at the same time that she pulls her knife out of him and he screams at the mix of sensations. Orgasm that blessed wildfire that consumes him._

_As he begins to return he realizes that he’s still hard, and that Jude is still riding him. Her hands resting on his chest and her hips lifting and twisting as she seeks her own end. Using his body as nothing more than an instrument for her pleasure, something to be used and tossed away. His tail has moved from her arm to her waist, the tuft teasing her inner thighs._

_She’s so focused on it that he manages to flip them before she can do anything to stop him. He stares down at her, brown hair spread out, petals of oleander and yew scattered in it and across the bed, more appearing as he bleeds. The scent of the petals mixes with her own smell, a mouldering,_ rotting, _sweetness that can only be his death._

_“I will do more than my worst, Jude, you have no idea how awful I can be.” There is no fear in her gaze, but he feels a surge of dark satisfaction when he feels her clench around him. “You will kill me, but I’ll destroy you first. You’ll never be able to forget me no matter how you try,” he presses his lips against her throat, smiling. “But I’ll be free of you in the end.”_

_Jude laughs, the sound bright and deep. “Oh, Cardan, don’t fool yourself. I’m brambles, growing deep in your chest. No matter how cruelly you cut me down I’ll always grow back, more ferocious than before. And no matter how desperately you try to escape, you’ll always be caught in my thorns. Even in death you’ll never forget me.”_

_He snarls, digging his teeth into her throat as he thrusts hard, relishing the sharp gasp she lets free as he continues his onslaught. She clings to him, both inside and out as he pounds into her. “Mine, Jude,_ mine _,” he growls. Wanting to make his claim,_ needing _too. “Mine to hurt, mine to love.”_

 _“Mine, Cardan.” Her nails feel like needles as they dig into his shoulders. “Mine to kill,_ husband. _”_

 _That acknowledgement shouldn’t affect him so, but it does. Racing through him with all the heat of the sun. Yet even at the pleasure of it he makes a dissatisfied sound, why can’t he_ come _?_

 _Another laugh from Jude, who somehow knows what’s wrong with him, this one sharper and cruel as a knife. “Do you need me to say it, Cardan? Beg and maybe I will.” Cruel,_ vicious _, wife._

_Her words spark a war within his chest. He wants that release, wants to beg for her, wants her to take control. But he refuses to be powerless, for her, or anyone else. Cardan has power now and he is loathed to give it up, even for the woman he is torn between loving and hating._

_Despite that, his body manages to win out. As if he is still under her command, helpless to do anything but obey. “Please, Jude, I need to come.” Desperation fills him and he_ hates _it, how easily she breaks him. How much he loves it._

 _Jude’s arms and legs change their hold slightly, a mockery of a loving embrace. “Cardan,” she murmurs in his ear before pulling his face away. Far enough that they are looking into each other’s eyes; hers seem the color of freshly turned gravedirt. “Come inside me, Cardan,” it leaves her a breathy moan. “You want to claim me don’t you? Your_ wife _?”_

_A broken moan leaves him as he finally spills inside her. It’s a torturous relief after so long. Giving in shouldn’t feel good, but it’s what Jude always manages to do._

_Her dagger slides into him again, his other shoulder this time. Pinning him to the bed as Jude slips away. “Jude!”_

_She continues to walk away, not even looking back._

“Jude!” He struggles awake, heart pounding and lungs working for breath.

Above him branches tremble, bloody red petals—poppy and petunia—showering down on him. His sheets cling to him in uncomfortable ways as he sits upright, a fact that doesn’t surprise him honestly. He can feel his tail thrash as he runs a hand through his hair. Jude, Jude, Jude.

Cardan snarls, wishing he had something to throw, feel the satisfaction of being able to break something.

But there is nothing to break, nothing except himself. And he’s not feeling that self-destructive, not yet at least. The sound of thunder reaches his ears, and he feels a smile curl across his lips. Yes, let all of Elfhame feel this storm inside him. Not that most will understand.

Getting out of bed he stumbles over to his desk, grabbing a bottle from the mess and taking deep draughts. The alcohol burns, not enough to cleanse him.

He doesn’t think anything can burn that hot.

...Jude perhaps, but he doubts she’s feeling charitable towards him.

A slower drink this time, his mind gaining that edge of haze that brings a shade of relief. Makes all his ideas seem like good ones.

Perhaps, perhaps he should go see his darling wife.

-

A moon and a half later—it took time to convince the Roach, then the man insisted on ‘lessons’ so that Cardan would actually know what was going around him in the mortal realm—Cardan steps out of the boat the Roach had used to carry mortals back and forth, and into the mortal world for the first time in his life. The air burns, even here in this vast ‘park’ they’d landed in, as he breathes in.

“She’s that way,” the Roach points down a marked path. It hadn’t surprised him that the Court of Shadows was keeping tabs on Jude, they had every reason to. “You’ll have to find your own way back if you’re not here by nightfall.”

Cardan nods. Despite being High King he doesn’t expect any different from his spies.

Everything around him is covered in snow, except for the path the Roach pointed down, and Cardan’s breath fogs as he walks. It feels cool to him, but the mortals must find it freezing, because he hardly sees any out, even with the sun finally rising over the buildings. Buildings that tower impossibly tall above him.

He walks, and walks. Perhaps it’s not just the Bomb that’s unhappy that Cardan banished Jude, and this is the Roach’s way of making his displeasure known. ‘That way,’ after all, is such a vague pair of words.

Anger curls inside him, warming him even further against the cool air. As much as he wants to do _something_ , he needs the Roach and the Bomb too much to try and get rid of them. With Jude gone they’re the only ones that can run the Court of Shadows, and if he removed one the other would follow.

The familiar sounds of swords draws him from his ire. At the very least it’s a heartening sound, Jude did so enjoy combat and murder.

He reaches a clearing, one that already has a small crowd of people, all bundled against the cold, watching the fight before them.

The two people fighting are wearing uniforms of some sort, ones that cover even their faces, but he knows which one is Jude, concealed as she is. Her opponent is bigger, and broader looking, but Jude holds her own. Nightfell clashes against her opponent’s shield, the dagger Jude wields in her other hand darting in, bright and quick as lightning. The crowd murmurs and gasps.

Cardan moves closer. It’s clear this is practice of some sort, otherwise Jude’s dagger would have landed a true hit instead of a glancing blow against white fabric. The opponent darts away, their own sword trying to draw Jude in to defending herself. The two of them dance around each other, and Cardan wishes he could see Jude’s face. The determination and focus that would be in her brown eyes. To see _her_ again.

They clash again and again, neither seeming to have the advantage. The opponent pulls away again. “Hold,” the voice is ragged and rough.

Jude stops her approach however, and returns the salute her opponent gives with Nightfell. Around Cardan the crowd applauds, as if this were only a show to entertain them. Perhaps only Cardan and the two of them know how earnest the fight was, for all it’s friendliness.

Reaching up Jude removes the helmet of her uniform and...something in Cardan he didn’t realize was tense relaxes. Even as he feels relief there is twisting anger too. There she is, hale and whole once more—though he wishes her hair were loose instead of pinned to her skull. The subject of his worst dreams and favorite nightmares. And how dare she appear to be thriving. “You almost had me there, Val.”

Her opponent, who’s also removed their helmet to reveal shorn red hair, and sharp features. “So you say, didn’t feel like it.”

Whatever the rest of their conversation might be is lost as the crowd attempts to swarm them. Attempts, because despite both of them being mortal, they slip away easily without any of the other mortals noticing. Cardan does however, and slyfoots after them, content to watch for now.

The two of them leave the path quickly, for one less tended and far more muddy. Thankfully they’re wrapped up enough in their conversation—something about a party tonight—that Cardan follows them all the way to the rock they walk through. It only catches Cardan off guard for a moment before he follows, magic washing over him as he moves.

The secret entrance conceals a tunnel, one with seemingly endless rows of stalls on either side. Again Cardan finds himself relaxing some, he knows fairy markets after all, has been to more than a few when he was a prince.

Jude and her companion are a little harder to follow here, though as mortals they stand out somewhat. All around them, and him, shopkeepers shout out their wares—fruit from Faerie, mortal clothes, potions to protect from iron poisoning, and on and on—but the three of them ignore the cries.

The tunnel’s widened out into a full cavern, one that looks to have been reclaimed from humans if the half built structure and tang of iron in the air is anything to go by, before either of them stop.

It’s a potion brewer’s stall, the troll working it imposing as all trolls tended to be. The smile he gives when he sees Val and Jude ruins a bit of the effect. “Val.” Setting down his tools the two of them embrace and kiss.

Jude rolls her eyes as she begins to strip off the rest of her uniform, revealing more typical clothes underneath—well typical for her in that they were all black. “You two have fun at the revel tonight,” she pulls on a heavy coat of some sort, then shoves all of her shed clothes, and Nightfell, into a bag. “But don’t get too wild.”

Val rolls their eyes. “Yes, mom.”

Cardan frowns at that, but it must be a human thing because Jude laughs. Giving the two of them a final wave she heads out. Perfect.

He bridges the gap between them fairly easy, finding himself grateful he’d paid close attention to the lessons the Roach and the Bomb gave him. But doesn’t approach her just yet, wanting somewhere a bit more private to greet his wife. It doesn’t help that everyone here seems to know her, some calling out to her specifically—she’d nod to them, but not stop. Who were more interesting were the ones who did their best to _avoid_ her.

The burn of iron becomes more noticeable again as she heads back up towards the mortal lands. Cardan finds it’s even more pervasive than it’d been at the ‘park.’ He follows Jude out into open air, finding them in a narrow space between to buildings. And better yet, alone.

Finally he approaches her. Reaching out he grabs her arm to turn her. She reacts far more quickly than he expects her to, whirling around and putting her dagger at his throat before he can even blink. Not that he expects any less from her. “Jude,” he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this foray into Cardan's head (which there'll definitely be more of). See you next week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are are ready for this...
> 
> Both the songs mentioned are by Zeal & Ardor.

I’d known I was being followed—though even the Court of Shadows gave me a wide berth—but hadn’t thought, out of all the humans and fairies in New York, that it’d be _him_.

“Jude,” his voice sounds too damn pleased with himself. His smile one of kingly smugness, even with my knife at his throat.

There is a very real temptation to slit his throat and just be done with him, one I shove aside. Cardan being dead after all is so very _final_. Better for him to live and suffer. “Cardan,” I greet, grateful my voice sounds as cold as the winter air around us. “And what brings you to the mortal world?”

In the back of my head a voice tells me how good he looks, his tall frame clothed in fairly plain, if colorful, clothes, clearly fairy made, but still in the range of human fashion. Familiar tangled curls my fingers long to sink into. His usual array of rings and earrings, that managed to glitter even in the feeble light reaching us here in the alleyway. I do my best to shove that voice away.

“Why else would I come to this place, save to visit you, Jude?” He makes it sound like I chose to leave of my own accord, that he hadn’t banished me.

Anger warms me against the cold. “Not afraid I’m going to kill you?” I ask sweetly.

He steps closer, my knife digging into his skin, but not breaking it. “I don’t believe you want me dead just yet, darling Jude. And you would be a poor host for doing so.” Honestly his way of speaking makes him stand out more than his clothes or looks.

Cardan’s not wrong, about not wanting him dead yet. “I’m not your host.” I sure as hell wasn’t going to make myself responsible for his actions.

“Is this not your city?” He sounds almost bored by the question. “And as you are not going to kill me, dear wife, if you would remove your dagger?”

For a second I press harder, feeling his skin contour to the blade. Feel him still. I could likely press my luck and my dagger, but I really don’t have the time. “Fine,” I sheath the dagger. “Do you really have nothing better to do with yourself?” Turning I begin walking towards the street proper, confident he’ll follow. “Shouldn’t you be worried about Madoc and the army? Some other plot against you?”

He catches up with ease. “Your concern is touching. But things have been relatively peaceful, I do believe the shock of what I did hasn’t quite worn off yet.” I spare him a brief glance, his cheeks have pinkened, likely from all the iron rather than the cold.

“No, I don’t suppose it has.” Making a whole new island had that effect. “Someone’s going to notice.”

“I shall be back before nightfall, with none but the Shadows the wiser.” He appears wholly unconcerned by anything that might happen to him here. Although even as he tries to hide it I can tell he’s looking at everything around us. I’m too used to fairies being aware of mortal things, Cardan’s fascination is almost charming. In contemplating what exactly I might do to throw him into the deep end as it were. “And where is it we are going, Jude?”

I roll my eyes, only Cardan. “ _I_ am going to work, _you_ can do whatever you’d like.”

“Then I’d quite like to follow you.”

I hiss through my teeth. My own fault, I’ve grown too used to mortal ways of speaking. “Fine, but I doubt you’ll find it all that interesting.”

He says nothing in response, something I can’t quite believe, even after a few minutes of quiet between us. Shaking my head I focus, getting to work isn’t hard, but being distracting won’t do me any favors either.

Soon we reach the little building tucked away in the Upper East Side that isn’t quite a second home. The bell above the door jingles as we step inside, the smell of blood and meat filling the air. There were jobs for those who associated with fairies, mine happened to be butcher. Which certainly didn’t hurt the reputation I’ve been building for myself.

On the other side of the counter a man covered in tattoos and scars stood, Nikolas Solokov, my boss. “Jude, you’re almost late,” his Jersey accent is so broad it’s almost comical.

“Sorry.” I shuck my winter gear and hang it up. “Practice with Val ran late,” it’s even the truth.

Nik doesn’t quite seem to believe it, and I can tell he’s giving Cardan a once over. “And who is this?”

“A nuisance.” I briefly bite my cheek to keep from laughing when Cardan stiffens. “But one I can handle.”

“If you say so,” Nik doesn’t sound quite convinced. He knows I can defend myself—he’s even taught me a few things—but he’s also quite protective of his employees. “Should anything happen I’m going up to the Sanderson’s tomorrow.”

I laugh. “I’ll keep it in mind.” Lifting up the counter I passed through, turning to arch a challenging eyebrow at Cardan. He’d said he wanted to follow me after all, now was the time to prove it.

He huffs, but follows. “In different circumstances I don’t believe I would let such an insult stand,” he tells Nik.

“You are welcome to try your worst, little fairy,” Nik ends his challenge with a Santa Claus laugh. “I have met many men more terrifying than you.”

Before Cardan can respond I grab him by the arm and pull him along. “I quite like my boss,” I tell him. “And I’d rather you not get into a fight with a mobster,” not that Cardan would know what that was. “Come on.” I manage to pull him into the back room.

Anger flashes across Cardan’s face, but again he follows. Then makes a face at the cow carcass hanging from a hook in the middle of the room. “I do not like him, ‘mobster’ or not. Nor did I appreciate that threat of a ‘farm.’” With no chairs Cardan has nothing to throw himself into and lounge, he manages to slouch against a wall however.

I roll my eyes as I set my bag on the smaller of two tables, digging through it I pull out my phone and a speaker. I hook them together and bring up a playlist—some things about phones still daunted me, but I did quite like the vast array of music I could listen too. As the music started, I begin to put on my ‘uniform,’ sparing a glance at Cardan. He stares at my phone as if that alone will tell him what it is. Clearly he’s too proud to just ask; and I’m in no mood to enlighten him.

I do make a face though as I realize the song. _“Like a strange fruit that’s out of season, you are bound to die alone…”_ which feels far too prophetic.

“Well here in the mortal realm you’ll have to play by our rules Cardan,” I can focus on antagonizing him at least. “And he wasn’t threatening you, he was offering to clean up after me.” Nik didn’t know I was a queen, but he knew I’d killed people, had even helped clean up after one already.

Cardan arches his eyebrows, watching me intently. “Now that I believe, thought I would have thought you’d clean up after yourself.”

“It’s always nice to have help,” I tell him sweetly as I put on my medical mask. The gloves come last and then I’m ready for work. I see Cardan’s eyes widen a little as I pick up a saw. “And pigs’ll eat anything, even fairies.”

Glancing at Cardan I saw how appalled he looked, and laugh. Still balking at the idea of killing people, or at least feeding their bodies to animals. “Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities, _your majesty_.” My sneer perhaps doesn’t work as well as covered as I am, but I’m sure me starting to cut into the carcass helps my derision along.

“Is this really what you want, Jude?” Cardan doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up, but doesn’t look all that comfortable either. How did he think the meat on his table got there?

I shrug as I continue my work. “It pays good, and it’s funny to see faeries try to glamour me in an attempt to poison someone else or the like.” More than a few faeries paid good money, most of it real even, for meat that had never touched iron. A lot more would pay even more for one of their rivals, or enemies to die of iron poisoning.

“It’s hard not to underestimate you,” Cardan agrees. “Yet you didn’t answer my question.”

“It gets me something I want,” I answer. Which is just as much the truth as what I said before.

This answer doesn’t seem to satisfy Cardan just as much as my last did. But he falls silent, moving from the wall over to the table. Which puts him out of my view. “Don’t touch my things,” I command, tone absent.

A brief moment of silence falls between us, filled only by my music— _“A good god is a dead one…”_

“You do not command me anymore, Jude.”

I find myself grateful that I can’t see him, because it means he can’t see me. Or at least my face. Not that he’s ever found my anger frightening.

-

Jude doesn’t respond to Cardan’s statement. And despite the flare of pride at a touch landed, there’s also a bitterness. Not an uncommon occurrence when it comes to being around Jude.

Cardan sits on the table with ease. Reaching out he nudges the strange rectangle that is producing the sounds—he’s fairly certain it’s supposed to be some sort of music, though he feels that’s being generous. It’s perhaps a childish gesture, but he makes his own choices now.

The silence between them stretches longer and longer, yet as unnatural as it is, neither of them seem interested in filling it. Cardan had wanted to see Jude again, and now he has. Yet there is something unsatisfying about it so far, that Jude—true to form—has not conformed to the way he had built it in his mind. Too much like Locke, that thought.

He’s sure she would like an apology, but he has nothing to apologize for. He wasn’t sorry, no did he regret what he’d done. Perhaps if he had had time he would have figured some way to evade having to banish her, but it had also been too good an opportunity to pass up. He might enjoy being king _now_ , but the fact that Jude had tricked him into it has eaten away at him, her banishment has almost made it disappear.

Perhaps he should take her back now, she would enjoy dealing with Madoc herself—so far her father _has_ seemed content to sit and wait. Which is the only true problem looming over him. Orlaugh has kept to their treaty, and things between Elfhame and the Court of Termites were even on the mend. Nevermind the chaos naming her High Queen might cause, both in the Court and possibly in Elfhame itself.

He’s certain she intends to revenge herself upon him for what he’s done, and in time he will get back at her for _that_. A vicious cycle he finds he doesn’t mind; a far better fate than the indifference of his own parents to each other.

Which is part of why the silence bothers him, he’s sure Jude can’t dislike him _more_ if he begins to talk with her again. There’s also a thought though that if he stays quiet enough perhaps she will forget he’s here, that he might get to see some sliver of Jude he’s never encountered before. Another bit of her that he could have all to himself.

The lure of that is stronger than any fear of indifference, or fear of what she might say—he hates that she can still wound him in that way.

So he sits on the table and watches. Her clothes hide her body again, but he knows what the play of muscles would look like if he could see them. Despite the smells, and sounds, and a good deal of the sights, he finds arousal beginning to curl in his belly. Even with such a disgusting job there is a human grace to her, a determination he’s rarely seen.

With no windows in the room there’s no way to keep track of time, other than the songs playing, most seem to be more of the not-music, while others almost pass for it. Eventually though their private world is shattered.

“Lunch is served.” Nik enters the room carrying a tray. He narrows his eyes at Cardan, but still approaches, setting it down next to him. Cardan has no idea what the various types of food _are_ , but the smell of them is different from any food he’s ever smelled before. It does not escape him however that there’s only enough here for one. “And eat _all_ of it.”

Stripping off her gloves Jude lifts the thing covering her eyes, all the better to pointedly roll them. “Yes, Nik.”

The other mortal gives a sharp nod before leaving them alone.

Again Cardan watches her shuck off the strange over clothes—though not the thing covering her hair, which he wishes weren’t there—taking more care with them than she had the ones she wore earlier, before coming to join him. She takes the bit of table still empty, which puts the tray between them, and picks up the cup. Taking a drink before offering it to him.

He arches an eyebrow. “Here I thought you were not my host?”

“I’m not,” she rolls her eyes again. “But I know you like sweets as much as the next fairy. Trust me, you’ve never had anything this sweet before.”

An intriguing idea, he would have thought mortal fare would be more lackluster compared to the stuff of Elfhame. He takes the cup from her and brings it to his lips.

The first thing he notices as he drinks is that is fizzes on his tongue, far more than he expects it to. Jude is right though it _is_ sweet, the sort that would make you sick if you had too much. The last thing he notices is that the flavor, flavors?, are not things he’s ever tasted before. Moving the cup away he frowns at the bubbly brown liquid within.

Jude laughs, and when he looks over at her and narrows his eyes she laughs harder. “What is this?” It comes out a sharp demand.

Grinning Jude picks up something from the tray and pops it in her mouth. “Coke,” she answers.

Putting the cup down he copies her, easily evading when she attempts to swat at his hand. This is crispy on the outside, but fluffy and still hot on the inside, as he’d thought the flavor—this at least he can tell is supposed to be potato—isn’t at all like what he’s used to. Even with the burn of the salt he makes himself finish it. “And what is _Coke_?”

“Soda,” she answers with a shrug. Picking up what looks like a sandwich she picks it up, taking a big bite. She narrows her eyes as Cardan steals more of her potato slices. “What’d’ya think?”

Being used to strange situations hasn’t quite prepared Cardan for this one. That Jude hasn’t demanded an apology, or an explanation, is bewildering. He is certain she hasn’t forgotten it, nor has he, but she seems, for now, content to ignore the whole situation of her banishment. A fact that is both a relief and puts him on edge. “Strange,” he finally answers. “Sweet, yes, but I do not care for it.”

Jude shrugs and takes another drink herself. “Your loss. Stop eating my fries.”

He takes another fry. Delighting in her annoyed huff.

This time when the silence begins Cardan doesn’t let it bother him. He does let Jude have the lion’s share of the food—she needs it more—but soon it’s all gone and she’s back to cutting and breaking down.

Much to his surprise however she seems to finish her work more quickly than he’d thought. The carcass now gone, in its place the various pieces that made up a bloody puzzle. Again she strips down to her dark clothes, she still leaves her hair up however and Cardan finds his fingers itch, before coming over. The ‘music’ cuts off and she slings the bag over her shoulders. “Come on.”

“Is that really all you do?” He doesn’t think she can cook, but it seems odd to just...leave them.

“No,” she answers as they head back into the main area of the shop. Waving at Nik she leads the both of them right out the door. “But with you hanging around I’m liable to hurt myself.”

A smile curls on his lips. “Do I distract you, Jude?”

She whirls around, and as much as he’d enjoy it, he stops himself before he runs into her. “You annoy me, that’s what kind of ‘distraction’ you are. Unless you count all the thoughts I had of going at you with one of those saws.” She bares her teeth.

His smile grows. “Come now, Jude. That’s hardly the worst thing you’ve ever threatened me with.” He doesn’t doubt that she could do him serious harm with a ‘saw,’ but her threat also brings back a sliver of his arousal. Perhaps he should just glamour the both of them to be unseen so he can have her as he’s craved to do for so long.

“Maybe I’ve decided you’re not worth it anymore,” she challenges.

Anger flashes through him, and she must see it from the victorious pride that appears on her face, and he welcomes it. “Jude, Jude, Jude. My darling wife.” He moves closer and feels a spark of victory himself when she takes a step back. “We both know that’s not the truth.” Raising a hand he drags his fingers across her cheek. “I know how much you hate and want me. That alone is worth many things.”

“As if you feel any different,” she snaps back. Her anger makes her more vibrant.

Without thought he finds himself bending down, as if to kiss her. Her anger has always had a taste he’s found himself enjoying. She stills, expression one of conflict. Not that that has stopped either of them before.

Their lips press together for only a second before she’s opening her mouth, Cardan feels no shame in taking advantage of that. She tastes as he remembers, and he laughs into her as she tries to bite his tongue.

“Assholes!” A man shouts as he walks past. At them, Cardan realizes. “Damn teenagers, acting like they own everything.”

“Sir.” Cardan feels Jude stiffen at the silky tone of his voice. But it catches the man’s attention, who turns to glare at them. Drawing up power is easy, even here surrounded by so much iron. “You will think everything you eat today has bugs in it. Until sunrise,” he adds as an afterthought. “Now run along.”

It’s quite amusing to watch the man turn like a puppet and begin running.

“Cardan,” Jude sighs. Her annoyance clear.

“It’s only fitting for his insult.” Cardan reaches out again, this time to cup her cheek. “We are the king and queen, able to do as we please.”

“We’re in New York City, there are no kings here,” she returns. “And we’re taking up half the damn sidewalk like tourists.”

A huff leaves him. “There is one now,” he responds lightly. 

Before she can reply, Cardan slides his hand back, tugging one of Jude’s hair pins out of its place. It does not at all surprise him that besides being jeweled and pretty, it is also fairly sharp. She watches silently as he works it into his thick doublet, making it a brooch. Reaching up again he takes the second, this time offering it to her.

She takes it and put it in her bag carelessly, eyeing the one he’s keeping. “Any more jewelry of mine you plan on taking?” Her tone is arch.

He grins and curls a lock of hair around his finger. “We shall see,” he answers.

Which earns him an eyeroll. “You hardly need any of mine when you’ve got so much of your own.” She doesn’t sound as put out as her words imply.

“Ah, Jude, but then it would not be _yours_.” His smile turns a shade deeper. “And I know how much you enjoy being vexed at me.”

Jude lets out a slow hiss, only for it to be interrupted by her pocket. _“This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S. This shit-”_ Jude pulls out that little rectangle that had been making music before—Cardan guesses this is also supposed to be ‘music’—and hits something on it, bringing it up to her ear. “Corny?”

Cardan can just make out a voice coming from the rectangle, not that he can hear what they’re saying. They’re clearly not happy about something however.

A frown grows on Jude’s face, the roots of it growing deeper and deeper. “I’m still basically by Nik’s, _fuck_.” Her hiss this time is far angrier. “Shit, I’ll be there as fast as I can, just...don’t do anything heroic.” She pulls the rectangle away and hits another part of it. “Fuck,” she says to it.

“Jude?”

She blinks and looks at him, as if she’d managed to forget he was there; something he doesn’t think has ever happened before. She doesn’t deign to give a response however, just shoves the rectangle back into her pocket, turns, and begins sprinting.

He easily catches up. It’s clear she’s worried about something, perhaps something to do with Val, or whomever ‘Corny’ was. Something bad enough that she’s willing to run to get wherever she needs to go, regardless of who it annoys.

Cardan would much prefer they went back to kissing and bantering, but Jude’s heart is too mortal for all it’s hardness. Too easily bent towards doing anything to keep those it cared about safe. He’s certain he can’t stop her from whatever plan she’s creating in her head, he can only help—as loathed as he is to think it.

Thankfully they don’t have to go far, or perhaps the fact they ran made the distance seem shorter, Jude all but running into the brick wall of the building. She turns, and shoves her bag at him. He might have planned to help, but that doesn’t stop him from being miffed that he takes the bag.

He doesn’t get the chance to complain though, before she’s tearing the bag open and pulling out Nightfell, and another dagger—only Jude. “I know I can’t stop you from following me in,” he’d almost call her tone fondly exasperated. “But at least count to ten or something.”

Again she doesn’t give him the option of speaking, turning on her heel and marching to the door. As she opens it he sees the words Moon in a Cup emblazoned on it.

Cardan does count to ten, slowly even, before finally going to the door himself and stepping inside. He’s greeted by a scream—not Jude’s scream thankfully—his eyes flying towards the sound. 

Jude’s back is to him, but he can see the female fairy she’s just done something to. Tall and willowy, with blue-gray hair, and almost transparent skin. “I told you what would happen, Naiara, if you attacked one of those under my protection again.” Jude sidesteps as she pulls out a second dagger. Glancing at the table, Cardan sees the first buried in the woman’s hand, pinning it to the table.

“You will not hurt me,” the woman hisses, glamour filling her voice.

Cardan can feel a smile tugging at his lips as Jude shrugs it off with ease. “I will, just as I promised.”

The woman seems baffled that Jude is unaffected, not for long though. “When I tell King Roiben wh-”

“There are no kings here,” Jude interrupts. Strangely Cardan can feel something prickling at him, as if he’s become unwelcome. “No courts, only _me_.” The prickling changes into pressure of some sort. “And you have harmed one who pledged themselves into my service. Be grateful I’m not using iron.” Jude brings her second dagger down, cutting off Naiara’s pinky. It twitches on the table as the other patrons watch in silence. Pulling the first dagger out Jude points it at Naiara. “Go, and don’t bother any of my people again, or I’ll take something something worse than a pinky.”

Clutching the hand to her chest Naiara bares her teeth at Jude and begins to head to the door. Jude doesn’t turn to watch her go, her queenly bearing implying that’s below her. Stars, but she’s beautiful.

Naiara’s at the door, but instead of leaving she turns and opens her mouth. Without thought Cardan steps forward, covering it with his hand. “I think not,” he’s grateful he sounds calm. “You will leave Jude as much alone as you leave her people. You will certainly not curse her.” Reaching out behind them he opens the door and shoves her out, then closes it; the jingling bell almost comical in the tense silence.

Turning to look at Jude, Cardan finds the pressure he’d been feeling earlier is now gone. He’s certain he didn’t imagine it, but perhaps it had come from one of the other Folk, and not Jude as he’d thought. Jude still looks queenly, but the pride in her shoulders is gone. “If she had cursed me I would have had an excuse to kill her,” Jude sounds tired.

He inclines his head. “I’ll remember that next time.”

-

Taking deep breaths I did my best to calm myself. Chopping off a finger might not have been the worst thing I’d ever done, but the rush of power I’m currently feeling isn’t helping. “Are you alright?” I turn to ask Diarmot, one of my informants in a growing net of spies. He hardly looked like the master pickpocket he was curled up by the fireplace, but I’m not going to hold it against him.

He nods, but I’m not surprised that he stays where he is.

“Alright,” Corny’s voice fills the room. “Everyone else out, we’re closed.”

His words earn some grumbling, but everyone files out. Trusting Corny to look after Diarmot, I clean my daggers. “Sorry about the finger.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Corny’s digging through the various jars on the shelves. “I doubt it’s the worst thing you’ll do here.” I make a face, he’s not wrong, but I’m not sure how I feel about him being so... _glib_ about it.

A different sort of alertness fills me as I feel Cardan stand next to me, setting my bag on the blood splattered table—he does take care not to set it _in_ the blood—and arching an eyebrow. “I’m quite surprised you managed to find a solution that isn’t murder.”

Corny gives a braying laugh as he carries a mug full of something over to Diarmot.

“I will stab you,” I threaten.

Cardan’s smile is almost self-indulgent. “I’m sure you will,” he agrees. Which makes me roll my eyes again, I’d never thought Cardan would ever be _that_ transparent, especially in front of other people. The concept doesn’t annoy me as much as I want it too though.

“I can take care of things here,” Corny’s voice breaks our little bubble. “I think _you_ have some other things to do.” His eyebrows arch pointedly. 

I huff, Corny knows enough about Cardan than his meaning’s clear. Which doesn’t stop him from reminding me of a meddling Vivi. I have no doubt that by tomorrow morning Kaye will know about this and be storming Moon in a Cup when I start my shift for answers. Which doesn’t mean I’m not going to take advantage of the out, because he’s not wrong that Cardan and I have much to talk about. In private.

“Come on,” It might have still been early afternoon, but I’m eager to get back to my apartment.

Amazingly he follows again, the silence between us tense this time. The only time he hesitates briefly is when we enter the subway train. I perhaps enjoy seeing him sway from the iron surrounding us too much.

Finally though we reach mine and Val’s apartment. The air tastes stale when I breath it in, but it smells like home now. Kicking off my shoes I shrug out of my winter wear and pull my daggers out of my duffle bag, intent on cleaning and sharpening them.

I sit on the couch and watch Cardan as subtly as I can as he wanders around, taking in the cramped space. The way he frowns at the pinball machine—currently off—crammed into a corner, the little tilt of his head at the word magnets on the fridge—at the moment the only bit of ‘poetry’ we have is a doggerel Kaye had made up the last time she’d visited.

He surprised me though by not going to explore the other rooms, but joining me on the couch, eyes blatantly watching _me_.

“What?” I snap as I set my oiling cloth aside. I have no idea why Cardan decided to visit me _now_ , or what he’d even planned. Granted it was Cardan, for all I knew this was just another reckless whim of his.

“You’ve changed,” he says it slowly, as if he can’t quite believe it himself. He inches closer, as if that will help him figure something out.

Tension doesn’t thrum through me, but I again find myself far more alert and aware of him. “That’s what happens when you throw people away Cardan, they do things you don’t expect them to.” My time here had honed me, not just in running a network of spies, but in killing too. “You’re just going to have to learn to deal with it.”

His brow furrows for a second. “You make it sound as if I should be offended. You are mortal, Jude, all you do is change.” For a second I think he’s going to reach out and touch me, but he doesn’t. “At your core you are still the Jude I remember, the one I chose.”

I stiffen, anger sparking inside me. “The one you banished,” I challenge back.

“What if I were to forgive you? Bring you back to Elfhame and declare you my wife and Queen in front of the whole court?” He sounds so certain, so sure that I’ll agree. It’s what I want after all. All that power, there for the taking.

Which makes it all the more satisfying when I reply. “No.”

The stunned expression on his face is everything. “But it’s what you want,” it almost sounds like a demand. “”How can you say no?”

“Easy,” I tell him with a slow smile. “No.” I turn my attention back to my dagger, on checking the edges for roughness. “You taught me too well Cardan, giving you what _you_ want always ends badly for me. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

“How does this get me what I want, Jude? The Court won’t like it, but they’ll deried me just as much as they would you. Taking a mortal for a wife is questionable, but it’s been done before, but to make her Queen?” Of course he doesn’t know why, doesn’t realize the want when it’s right in front of him.

I look up from my work and meet his eyes. “Me, Cardan. If I go back to Elfhame you’ll have me again, like _you_ want. Always there, always by your side.”

He stills, his eyes seeming to go liquid. Danger zips down my spine, a warning that while I can defend myself, Cardan is still a predator. Still able to do so much to me before I realize what’s happening—even if he won’t kill me—although his greatest weapon is useless against me. “I do believe, by right of marriage, I already _have_ you, Jude. _Wife._ ” He slips closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell his skin. “I could...have you again right now, if I so wanted.”

Shifting my grip on the dagger I put it between us, the tip of it resting against his shirt. “That is far enough... _husband_ ,” a delighted grin crosses his face, even with the venom in my voice. “I won’t kill you, but I’ll make you regret it.” I knew full well all that I could cut off and still have him live after all.

Cardan pushes closer, until I can feel my blade press into his skin. “So you promise, but I know full well you want me too, Jude. Delightfully deadly wife.” Now I’m the one stilling. He can’t read my mind, so how does he know what he always calls me in fantasy? His grin turns into something more...carnal, mistaking my stillness for something else. “Oh yes, I recall quite well how fervently you kissed me, how well we joined together. It haunts my dreams and nightmares.”

His hand reaches out and runs across my cheek before curling under my chin. “You hate and want as much as I do, why deny the both of us? I could come whenever you wanted me to,” his expression suggests he knows exactly how one might take those words.

I press the dagger harder, see him flinch as it pierces fabric and flesh, the former blooming red. “You can’t just come and go as you please, Cardan. I will not play stolid Hades to your lackadaisical Persephone.”

A sigh leaves him. “Oh, Jude,” his hand slips away. His eyes shift into those soft voids I fear so much in my dreams. “I do recall that it’s Persphone that’s more feared,” he arches an eyebrow and gives a sharp grin. “Do you fear me then?”

“Fear is the last thing I feel about you, Cardan.” I cursed myself as the words slip out, more that I had planned on sharing.

From the way his grin turns from sharp to delighted, Cardan knows it too. “Perhaps _you_ are Persphone, you have split your time so far between the mortal realm and Faerie.” He leans in close again, too fast this time for me to put the dagger between us. “Should I spirit you away again? Make you the queen who splits her time evenly between two worlds? Although I don’t believe it has been quite even has it?”

No, I’d spent more time in Faerie than I had in the mortal world. “Are you proposing a new bargain then?” My mind scrambles, I can work this to my advantage.

He reaches out again, his fingers feeling too warm against my cheek. “Come and fetch you in a year? Yes, I could promise you that. Although you might not like Faerie when you return. We can settle the rest then.”

“Nine months,” I correct. “I’ve been here three already.”

He tilts his head to acknowledge the correction. “Shall I swear to come fetch you in nine months then? Bring you before the court to give you forgiveness and declare you my queen?”

I don’t say yes right away, going over his terms when he’d banished me again in my head—I don’t think I could ever forget them, even after he forgives me. “And promise to carry me, or put me on a horse,” I add. “By your own words I can’t set foot in Elfhame until I’m forgiven.” Something I could have perhaps taken advantage of earlier.

“True,” he agrees. “Although by my own words you could have well forgiven yourself. You are the crown as much as I, darling Jude.”

I stare at him, shock and anger exploding inside me. My hands curl and uncurl, my dagger slipping to hit the floor. Before I realize what I’m doing I slap him. “You...you fucking bastard.” This isn’t fair, I know it. I’m angry at myself for not realizing the biggest trick, not at him.

The shock fades away to be replaced by shame. What sort of spy am I that I can still be so easily tricked? It burns in me, seeking release of some sort. My hand flies up again, but this time Cardan catches it before I can touch him. “Not again, Jude,” there is danger in his voice. In his eyes too. No, of course Cardan wouldn’t let me take this out on him, not that way at least.

“Jude Duarte, Queen of Elfhame, daughter of clay,” he keeps hold of my hand, twisting it slightly so he can press his lips to my palm. “I, Cardan Greenbriar, do swear that in nine months time I shall carry you to the throne of Elfhame, and before the Court I shall forgive you and proclaim you my wife. Does that satisfy?”

It’s hard to speak, my throat feeling tight. “It does,” I finally respond. I might have been giving him what he wanted, if in a delayed fashion. But nine months would give me time to work on my own plans.

He presses another brief kiss to my palm. “Shall we seal our compact with a true kiss?” It’s not a question so much as a challenge.

I know full well it will soon turn into more than a kiss, that I should say no. Yet I’m too wound up, anger and shame still swirling, coupled with my ever present hatred and desire for Cardan, nevermind the rush from earlier still lingering in the corners of my body. I’m not opposed to agreeing with Cardan, but it does feel like surrendering to him in a way if I do.

Ultimately though I am _tired_ , of schemes and plots and plans. For now. Not that sex with Cardan is _uncomplicated_ but it’s also something I know. Nevermind that after so many months without I find I _want_ sex in and of itself. I meet his gaze. “We shall,” I answer.

He presses closer, close enough that he becomes a line of heat all against me, pushing me fully against the back of the couch. Cardan says nothing before he puts his lips to mine, tongue seeking entrance only a few seconds after that.

Opening my mouth I let him in. My hands rise up to fist in his hair, thick and silky between my fingers, as I push against him.

The kiss is not a duel, but it is a contest of sorts, one I have no intention of losing. His hands begin to push up my shirt, clever fingers dancing up my ribs to tease at my breasts through my bra. I gasp into his mouth, relishing the sensation. Freeing one of my hands from his hair I retaliate by cupping him through his pants, this time moaning when I feel how hard he already is.

Cardan, however, stills briefly at the touch, before making a needy sound and trying to push even closer. I find myself laughing into his mouth, comforted that my imagination didn’t fool me on this. That I can still be the one in control, even as he takes me.

He pulls away—meaning I win—black eyes vast. “Jude…” Harder for him to sound dangerous when his breathing is so ragged. I don’t hold it against him.

“Isn’t this what you want?” I challenge. My hand moves, fingers tracing up and down the length of him. “You liked it when I threatened you with a dagger and kissed you, shouldn’t I be the one in control?” I certainly knew more about sex now than I had before, perhaps even more than Cardan himself.

A sound halfway between a snarl and a moan leaves Cardan, and before I know it we’ve changed positions. Me now lying flat against the couch, with him looming above me. “Jude, darling Jude, deadly Jude.” He lowers himself, everything about him feeling hotter than before as he lays atop me. “Some days I don’t know whether to strangle you or give in,” he mutters it against my throat, as if the words are being pulled from him against his will but he won’t look me in the eye as he speaks.

I laugh again, this time perhaps less cruelly than before. That he admits it at all is a giving in of sorts. “I think you’re confused about who will kill whom,” I shock myself with how much more a tease it sounds than threat.

He smiles against my neck. “There you are,” it sounds like he’s speaking to himself, but it’s hard not to miss.

Managing to free my legs enough, I wrap them around his waist. It puts him right against me, separated only by our clothes. The both of us shiver at the feeling. Using the hand that is still somehow in his hair I pull his head up, make him look me in the eye. “Are you going to just talk? Or are you going to fuck me, Cardan?”

Black eyes became the voids I knew so well again, except this is no fantasy.

We just stare at each other for what feels like forever, seconds passing slow as molasses. Then by some silent agreement our hands became a flurry. Fingers fumbling and pushing at pants, soft cries as they encounter tender flesh, shoving and wiggling to get more access. Then before perhaps either of us are ready, he’s thrust himself inside of me.

It doesn’t hurt—Cardan isn’t the only one who’d been affected by our verbal sparring—but it feels like a shock nonetheless. Both my hands slip under his shirt, nails eagerly biting into his skin. “Damn it, Cardan,” there’s no anger in it, however.

He licks a line up my throat before smiling into my jaw. “I thought it best to begin before you changed your mind.”

Bastard. “Fuck you.” My nails dig harder and I feel him shudder as they break skin, blood pooling against them.

“ _Jude_ ,” it sounds like a prayer more than anything as he begins to thrust.

“Yes, Cardan.” I arch as best I can, relishing the wash of sensations that overcome everything else. Almost everything, but it’s no surprise to me my hate lingers. It’s my constant companion, even in the throes of pleasure. “Make me come,” I demand. “Then maybe you can,” it sounds like the afterthought I want it to be

Another shudder, and this time his arms give out, his full weight falling against me and knocking the breath out of me. His hips don’t stop thrusting though, even if the action becomes more erratic. “ _Jude_ ,” he repeats. This time an almost petulant whine than a prayer.

Our clothes bite into my skin as I wrap my arms and legs around him, unwilling to let him escape. “ _Cardan_ ,” I mean it to be mocking, but it comes out a gasping sigh as he hits my g-spot. “You... _gods_ , _you_ are my husband, and I will have you anyway I see fit. This…” I cry out as his teeth sink into my shirt. “This is how I get to have you, that no one else will.”

“Cruel Jude,” he turns his head to pant it against my throat again. “Mercy, wife.”

“Nooo,” I moan as we move. “ _Mine_ , Cardan. No matter who else has you.” Fidelity had not been part of his vows after all. How long had it taken for Nicassa to work her way back into his good graces, and bed, I wonder. Turning my head I bite _him_ at the thought, needing to lay claim in an even more physical way.

He cries out again, the sound desperate. I feel him twitch inside me and for a moment I’m certain he’d orgasmed. Yet he doesn’t begin to soften, if anything he thrusts harder. “Cruel, awful, wife. _Come_. I need it, _please_.”

I let go of his throat at his words, crying out softly. Nuzzling the wound, I lick at his blood as it begins to slide down his neck, enjoying the taste more than I thought I would. “Tell me what you feel, Cardan, _husband_.”

He bites me again, the moan he gives echoing through me. That doesn’t satisfy me though, not when I’m so close. “Cardan, _tell me_ ,” I’m not sure if I should be pleased that it’s both a demand and begging. “What you feel, want, need. Tell me.” I wanted him to be weak before me, to give myself parts of him he refused to believe he had, wanted to know them so I could better have my revenge.

“I need _you_ ,” he gasps into my ear. “Being _mine_ , to love and hurt and break and worship.” Loosening my hold on him I manage to slip a hand between us, fingers playing with my clit as best they could. “Want to break you myself, finally,” he sobs. I moan. “Want you to ruin me. _Stars_.” Close, I’m so close. “Want you, hate you, _love you. Jude, Jude, Jude…”_ Over and over again in my ear.

Orgasm roars through me, and I can only scream at the sensation.

A few seconds later Cardan follows, the most beautiful broken whine falling from his lips.

We lay there, the both of us perhaps too wrung out to even move—or at least I am. Our ragged breaths begin to even out, the highs slowly fading away. My body aches, but nothing worse than what I’ve done to myself in sparring.

“You know,’ Cardan’s voice sounds hoarse and I smile against his neck. “Some might think you were the fairy, and I the mortal,” his tone implies he doesn’t like the idea. That he says it anyways speaks volumes.

Turning my head I look him in the eye, letting those soft voids tug me in; just for now. I laugh softly at his words, drinking in the compliment. “If you were the mortal and I the fairy, Cardan, I’d _have_ you, body and soul, and you would kneel at my feet.”

The both of us shudder, if for different reasons, at my words. He takes my hand and again kisses my palm. “Jude, I cannot be weak.”

“For me.” I take his hand and briefly set my teeth in the mound of his thumb. “You will be, Cardan.”

-

On the isle of Insear something began to sprout...

-

It is a few hours later and Cardan’s body feels sore and wrung out, if in the best way. Slowly he rises, letting Jude’s restless and still sleeping body steal the blankets from him. He finds himself turning, the evening light and the yellow light of a ‘lamp’ revealing her shape to him.

She looks as ruined as he does, bites and bruises marring her fragile flesh. Reaching out he ghosts his fingers across a bite on the side of her breast, a flicker of heat passes through him; but even he is useless for a few more hours yet. Hours he doesn’t have.

A sigh leaves him and he turns back around, pausing when something golden catches his eye.

Her, his, _their_ ring sits on her little bedside table, almost lost among the other strange riffraff of her new mortal life.

Unearthing it he rolls it between his fingers for a few moments before slipping it onto his ring finger. Cardan considers his own rings for a few moments before removing one—gold as well, the band patterned to look like snake scales—and sliding it onto her ring finger. It’s only fitting after all.

Finally he stands and digs through Jude’s familiar mess to find his own clothes—they’d finally made it to bed and undressed fully the second time around. Once dressed he lets himself have one finally look at Jude before padding out of her room.

He doesn’t leave just yet though, curiosity making him wander through the space.

Despite the Roach’s ‘lessons’ it’s all strange to him, the light that appears and disappears with the flick of a tab, the words that cling to a steel box, but don’t stick to anything else—he arranges them into a bit of truth for Jude to find. All strange and mortal magics that he’s not sure he could ever understand. He finds a bit of his own magic on the couch in the form of basil leaves, he puts one in his mouth and chews thoughtfully.

His window of time is growing shorter, and with a sigh he makes himself leave. Out in the open air his lungs begin to burn again but it’s easier to bear this time.

He glamours the first human he finds to bring him back to the park—he’s kind enough to give them money, and remove the enchantment when he’d dropped Cardan off. From there it’s easy to find his way to where the Roach dropped him off, snow beginning to fall around him as he spots the other man. 

Who arches an eyebrow, the bites and bruises Jude gave him are not so easily hidden; and Cardan knows the gossip will foment when he makes an appearance—Nicassa will likely stare and stare, as if that alone will tell her whom he’s allowed in his bed. Cardan grins. “It was a productive day.”

The Roach harrumphs, before pulling ragwart out of his pocket and muttering to it. Cardan climbs onto his horse barely seconds after it appears; much to his body’s protests.

“And how is she?”

“She’s Jude,” Cardan replies as they take off.

-

I find it easy to slip from the bathroom to my own room with no one the wiser. In a few minutes I’d go out and make myself be social, for now I needed to just…

Sitting on the bed I stare at the plastic in my hands—just under it on my left hand gold glitters. It hadn’t exactly been a lark that had made me buy it, because if what I’d thought might’ve been was right, well, that changed a lot.

My eyes skitter away from my hands, as if not looking will make it untrue. Landing on the polaroid I’d taken the day Cardan had visited, months ago now. Perhaps his poetry left something to be desired, but I’d found I wanted a reminder of it before I destroyed it.

_A truth_

_The woman and the monster both long for the same dream_

_The difference between them_

_One wishes to haunt and one wishes to satisfy a void of soul_

_In a cruel world a dark night and passionate kisses would mark the end_

_Time will find if we are helpless to resist what is offered in whispered romance_

The words don’t confuse me, only serve to tangle the love and hate inside me further. I would have my revenge on Cardan, but I wasn’t sure how it would affect me.

Which doesn’t change my mind, Cardan would live in the end, if damaged. Any trauma, emotional or otherwise, I put myself through would be worth it. I had no doubt, whatever the aftermath, we’d lick each other’s wounds as we loved and hated and plotted.

Grinding my teeth I make myself look back down at my hands, at the inescapable truth that has changed everything and nothing. Hysterical laughter tumbles from my lips as I sink to the floor—which is how Val, Kaye, and Roiben, find me when Val all but breaks down my door.

I’d wanted a way to crown Oak without Cardan, and now I have it.

I’m pregnant with Cardan’s child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as some things in this chapter would imply, there's going to be a sequel...eventually (at the moment I don't have anything resembling an actual Plot). In the meantime [come chat with me](https://kaelsmiscellany.tumblr.com/) if you've a mind.


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